The Palace Thief (review)

308 BOOK REVIEWS praise songs, but when a reviewer tells me that a text is faulty, that it is not one we should read, I will work hard with that reviewer to be certain this is so, and when I am convinced, I will help the review go forward. Finally, I see the review process as an important part of the collaborative activity by which disciplines create, shape, and sustain themselves. Because reviews are about what we should or should not read and because what we read shapes the terrain through which we will travel and the territory in which we will dwell next year and the year after that, I am committed to making the review process as open and participatory, as clearly reflective of the overall composition of our discipline, as possible. This means that I will call on both new and established reviewers and that I will actively seek out as wide a variety of voices, styles, and informed perspectives as possible. To do less, I think, would be a disservice to us all. Charles M. Anderson Ethan Canin, The Palace Thief. New York: Random House, 1994. 205 pp. Clothbound, $21.00. For a world that characterizes us according to our most visible roles, Ethan Canin, in this collection of four stories, makes it evident that he is "a literary artist who also is a physician" and not "a physician who also writes books." The former category includes Anton Chekhov and William Carlos Williams. Is Canin that good? Quite possibly. The Palace Thief, in its stories "Accountant," "Batorsag and Szerelem," "City of Broken Hearts," and "The Palace Thief," is terse, compelling, painful, and immensely competent. It is also timely. In a literary market in which the inner lives of women have been increasingly examined, The Palace Thief gives voice to this less frequently explored dimension of men's lives. It also touches upon AIDS, divorce, society's puerility and corruption, the isolation of artists and intellectuals , the waste of lifetimes, and a growing mystification between generations . In "Accountant" the protagonist, Abbot Roth, is a solitary and cerebral crypto-romantic who has for the most part foregone such youthful pleasures as sports, cars, and dating in favor of practicalities: Book Reviews 309 doing well in his studies and eventually "succeeding" in an accounting career. "After high school I was able to benefit from the discipline my father had bestowed upon us," he says of himself (p. 5). His rigidity and formality characterize him throughout the story: he is stiff and repressed. However, his boyhood pal Eugene Jones, though undisciplined , self-indulgent, and apparently unfocused, has made a fortune in automobile parts. The successful Jones organizes for a group of executives and professionals a visit to a San Francisco Giants "fantasy camp," at which, for a considerable fee, men can spend a week playing at being professional baseball players. Having persuaded himself and his family that it presents a business opportunity, Roth agrees to go—clearly, though almost unconsciously, relishing its appeal to his long-submerged love of baseball and worship of such baseball heroes as are sure to be present at the camp. At the end of the week, Roth "cracks" and steals a souvenir legging once used by Willie Mays. It costs him a business deal, but, poignantly, wins him new respect from his daughter (to whom he confesses): "Tm glad you did it,' she said when I had finished" (p. 55). In "Batorsag and Szerelem," the protagonist is a brilliant highschool boy named Clive, a mathematical whiz who delights but baffles his family, including his more ordinary brother, who is the story's narrator: "We always suspected that something was wrong with Clive, but our suspicions were muddled... by his brilliance" (p. 61). What is "wrong with Clive," it turns out, is that he is homosexual. Here is the scene in which the narrator and his father find Clive in bed with his high-school friend Elliott: Our father's arm flashed, and Clive flew back from the impact of the blow, hitting the wall with the loose wings of his shoulders and then crumpling. Elliott hugged his knees. Clive shook his head and let his...